These Days
by moogsthewriter
Summary: The road to recovery is more like a winding mountain road. Post 3.16. AU as soon as season 4 starts. Complete.
1. Day 1

_A/N: Alright. This is the follow-up story I mentioned in "One hundred nine hours and thirteen minutes." You don't necessarily have to read that to understand this, since that was vague in and of itself._

_This will be a multi-chaptered fic. Not exactly sure how long - probably between five and ten chapters. The chapters themselves will generally be pretty short - a lot shorter than I typically write. Updates should be fairly regular (knock on wood...)_

_It's also in a different format that I'm used to writing - partly journal, partly third person POV. Let me know if you like/hate it._

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

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Day 1

I got my brother back today.

Actually, I guess it was about a day and a half process, according to Bobby. Well, added in to the four and a half days that we spent trying to come up with a way to get Dean out of Hell. So it was nearly a week for Dean.

A week spent in Hell.

I think that's why Dean hasn't really started asking just how I got him out. I mean, I was only down there for a little bit, and that was bad enough. I wasn't even bound or anything. Finding Dean…seeing what he was going through… it's no wonder he's a little screwed up.

For right now, I'm just glad to have him back. He doesn't need to know how… at least not for awhile. Preferably after all my scars heal up again. Especially that one across my spine. It freaked Bobby out, that's for sure. I think he thought I was going to die – again. If Dean were back at one-hundred percent, he would've been chewing my ass for going through what I did. And some day, he probably will – once he's back in full-on big-brother mode. It's a day I'm looking forward to.

I got my brother back today.

I can finally start counting up the days again. Not counting down. Counting up the days that I can actually live again. Sure, Dean brought me back. But I was alive for… twenty hours? Maybe a little longer… it's a little fuzzy. But not very long before I died again. I mean, yeah, I was still breathing, but… not really living. I guess in reality, I was pretending – for Dean's sake.

Dean may be one of the smartest people I know, but he's pretty stupid when it comes to figuring out just how important he is. He acts… or acted… all cocky and self-confident, but I knew better. Sure, it took even me a little bit to figure out, but I knew better. He figured I'd be able to make it without him – to survive as the last Winchester.

He was wrong.

I could've told him that from the get-go, but that was even clearer after that whole thing with the Trickster. I still haven't told Dean about that first Wednesday. I'm not planning on it. But there was no way I was living without Dean. Functioning, maybe. But not living.

Even though Dean isn't quite right yet, I can live again. If Dean's reason for living was watching out for me, then my reason for living is watching out for him. It's a two-way street. Maybe after this, he'll realize it. But even if he doesn't… I'll settle for having my older brother back.

I got my brother back today.

I got my life back today.

Sam's eyes popped as a strangled whimper drifted over from the adjacent bed. Dean was twisting in the sheets, his face screwed up in pain and terror. Sam slid his legs out from under his own blankets, clicked the small lamp between the beds on, and shuffled over toward Dean, wincing slightly as the movement jostled the stitched wounds on his back and sides. "Dean," he whispered, one hand hovering over his brother's forehead.

Dean whimpered again, his back arching slightly, his head tossing from one side to the other.

Sam swallowed, then laid his hand lightly on the top of his brother's head. "Dean!"

Dean gasped, his eyes shooting open. The green orbs were wild and glazed as they darted frantically around, his chest heaving in a desperate struggle for air. "Dean! Dean, it's me. It's okay," Sam whispered, gently rubbing his brother's scalp in a soothing motion.

Gradually Dean's chest settled into a more peaceful rhythm as his eyes locked with Sam's. Sam felt something in him twist at the broken and haunted look in his brother's eyes. "S-Sam?"

Sam smiled faintly, his fingers still moving through Dean's hair as he tried to comfort Dean like Dean had comforted him in the past. "Yeah, Dean. You're out."

Dean swallowed, his body relaxing back into the bed. "Wh-where?"

"Bobby's."

"Oh." Dean half-sighed, half-sobbed, but Sam didn't say anything. He just kept up with the soothing motions as Dean's eyes started to drift shut again. It hadn't even been a full day since Sam had brought Dean back from Hell, but Dean was already responding to Sam like the younger Winchester had hoped.

"Don' leave?"

The slurred whisper brought the sting of tears to Sam's eyes. "I won't, Dean. I'll be right here when you wake up."

"Pr'm'se?"

Sam swallowed and nodded. "I promise."

Dean sighed again, his body surrendering back to the pull of sleep. After a moment, Sam slid his left hand down under the blankets, grasping at his older brother's hand. He twisted slightly, ignoring the pain that spiked through his back, and reached for the slightly worn leather-bound journal – his most recent birthday gift from Dean – and the pen that was resting near it on the small table.

He balanced the journal on his knee as the book fell open. Using his free hand, he quietly flicked the pages forward until he hit a blank page. Then he adjusted his grip on his pen, a faint smile on his lips as Dean's hand curled lightly around his own. The only sounds that filled the room were unison breathing, a pen scratching on paper, and the occasional plop of a teardrop hitting the journal.

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I got my brother back today.

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I would greatly appreciate any and all comments. The next chapter should be up within a few days.

moogsthewriter


	2. Day 6

_A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, guys - I really appreciate it. _

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

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_Day 6_

_Dean's working on the Impala._

_Not for very long, I would imagine. He's still pretty worn out, and his body isn't healing very fast. Doesn't help that he keeps tearing the stitches in his sleep, but that's not really something he can control._

_The one time he consented to taking one of Bobby's sleeping pills – on the third day – turned out really bad. The drugs didn't stop the nightmares from coming – they just prevented his body from letting me know what was going on._

_Needless to say, no more sleeping aids for Dean… at least, for now._

_But he finally went outside today for the first time since he woke up. I think it's doing him some good, too – not just working on the car, but leaving Bobby's place. I mean, we both love the guy like a second father, but that doesn't change the fact that he has demon wards, occult books, and a million other reminders of the dark side of hunting. The demon wards have been especially hard on Dean, I think._

_That makes me slightly worried. I talked with Bobby last night, after Dean had fallen asleep, and he kind of agrees with me… Dean's soul might be tainted. Which means he could be affected by the wards._

_Which really isn't surprising. I don't think it will have too much of an impact – at least, not physically. He hasn't reacted at all to the Devil's Trap still tattooed on his chest. (The Hellhounds couldn't touch that when they were attacking him, thank God.) And I don't think his eyes are going to go all black any time soon or anything. I'm more worried about that happening to me._

_No, the thing I'm worried about with Dean is the long-term impact on his psyche. If our run-in with the vampires up in Montana was enough to make Dean start questioning his black-and-white view of hunting, then this is going to blow everything out of the water._

_I mean, I figured we wouldn't be hunting any time soon… actually, I would adjust if we never hunted again. But I know that's not practical. There's still stuff out there that needs to be hunted. Innocent people are still getting hurt._

_But as much as I want to help those innocent people, I want to help my brother more._

_Not that I'm doing such a great job right now, mind you. At least, it doesn't feel like it. Dean and I don't talk a whole lot… although it is more than after Dad died. And we actually haven't had a fight yet – which is a record compared to a couple years ago. There's still a lot of silence. But this time, the silence is marginally more comfortable. Not like it was before, but a little better than after Dad died._

_That's why I'm relieved that Dean started showing interest in his car again – even if I sort of prodded him to do it. It lets me know that my big brother is somewhere inside that broken shell. And I don't care how long it takes – I'm going to get as much of that big brother back as I can._

Sam flicked carelessly through the two-day old newspaper that had been sitting on Bobby's kitchen table. He glanced through a few of the articles, chewing his way through a bowl of mushy cornflakes and milk.

His eyes shot up to the ceiling when he heard the soft creaking of footsteps shuffling overhead. He paused, a spoonful of cereal halfway to his mouth as he inwardly battled his desire to rush upstairs and check on his brother. He knew Dean had been up for awhile – he'd been there when Dean had awakened – so he figured Dean wouldn't be panicking without Sam near.

Actually, Dean had progressed in that area much quicker than expected – he could almost go a full hour without having to see even a glimpse of his younger brother.

Sam wished he could say the same for himself.

As it was, it had been forty-three minutes since he had seen Dean while grabbing a clean shirt before showering (not that Sam was counting or anything), and he was already starting to freak out.

He shoved the spoon in his mouth, eyebrows knitting in confusion when he found there were no flakes on the metal.

As footsteps echoed down the old stairwell, Sam forced his eyes back down to the newspaper and took another bite of cornflakes, trying not to choke on the sludgy cereal as it clung to his throat. He swallowed thickly, eyes flicking up as Dean finally shuffled his way into the kitchen, leaning against the wall. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean murmured back. Sam didn't miss the flicker of relief that passed through Dean's eyes, and he smiled faintly. Maybe Dean still needed to be reassured of Sam's presence more than Sam had thought.

Good to know they were on the same page in that category, anyway.

"Did you want something to eat?"

Dean eyed the bowl of soggy cornflakes. "As appealing as those look, I think I'll pass for the moment," he said wryly. His eyes flicked around the kitchen again. "Where's Bobby?"

"He went to town to get some supplies," Sam replied. "There's a reason I'm stuck eating cornflakes."

Dean chuckled softly, his eyes still roaming the room. Sam cocked his head slightly when he saw a slight shudder run through Dean's frame as his eyes landed on something for a brief moment before they were moving again. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye revealed that Dean had caught sight of a protective ward over the doorway of the kitchen. Sam frowned faintly, debating on whether or not to speak up.

"The Impala's out back."

Dean blinked in surprise, his eyes moving back to Sam's. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "I thought you might like to get outside for awhile. The car's out back, if you want to take a look at it."

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes searching Sam's face for a moment. Finally, a hint of smirk creased his face. "Yeah, maybe I better. If you've screwed up my car-"

Sam couldn't hold back a short laugh as he grinned, glad to see a little of his old brother showing through. "I know, I know – you'll kill me." He paused briefly as a faint flicker of darkness passed over Dean's eyes at the remark. He scrambled to make the air a little less tense. "You better go find your lover. I'm surprised you've gone this long without her."

Dean snorted, moving towards the kitchen door. "Knew I'd get through to you someday, Sammy."

Sam looked slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder from his spot in the doorway. "You just called her a 'her'. Finally got you to see the light."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever, man."

He watched as Dean made his way outside. The older Winchester took a deep breath of the sunny South Dakota air before making his way to where the black Chevy was parked. Nudging the paper aside, he grabbed his journal and flipped it open to where a pen was marking his current page.

_Dean's working on the Impala._

_A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I would greatly appreciate any and all comments. The next chapter should be up within a few days._

_moogsthewriter_


	3. Day 15

_A/N: Again, thanks for all the reviews, guys - I really appreciate it. They're what keep me writing._

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

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_Day 15_

_I think the nightmares are getting worse. _

_Not just Dean's, though – mine, too._

_The weird thing is that I can't remember them very well. They're not nearly as vivid as my visions, or as the dreams I had after Jessica died. I mean… I remember parts of them. Like seeing Dean dying in that motel parking lot on that Wednesday. Dean being mauled by the Hellhounds. Dean chained in an endless void, hooks speared through his skin. _

_Always Dean._

_Once in awhile Jessica or Mom will show up. Dad even made an appearance in one. That one was particularly bad._

_Images of your own father shouting how much he hates you and then reciting an exorcism and emptying a clip into you while your brother was screaming in the background would scar most people, I think. _

_But Dean doesn't know. Dean can't know. He's still not making it through the night, either. Not even close. He's lucky if he can get three hours of sleep in without waking up from nightmares._

_And the worst part is that he keeps blaming himself. Like it's his fault that Hell has changed him. Well… I mean, in a way it was – if he hadn't made that deal in the first place, this wouldn't have happened._

_I don't blame him for making the deal anymore, though. Haven't since I watched him die over and over and over again. Haven't since I risked killing Bobby to get Dean back. That still gets me every now and then._

_At least Dean's starting to recover physically. The gashes from the Hellhounds on Dean's chest and legs are finally starting to heal up – another couple days and we can probably take the stitches out. And that gash across my spine has finally started closing up. I'll have a few new scars on my sides, but that's not really unexpected._

_Unfortunately, neither of us is really close to being healed. I don't know if we ever will at this rate._

_And I know Bobby's really frustrated. Hell, I know we're frustrated. But I feel bad for Bobby. He's trying hard to help, he really is. But… I don't think he can. It's not like he can fall back on personal experience in this department._

_I think it's about time we move on. After Dean gets his stitches out. Maybe a change of location will do us some good. Maybe not. But I know Dean's itching for some semblance of normal, and for us, normal is out on the road. Even if it's just the three of us driving around aimlessly. Me, Dean, and the Impala._

_God, I'm turning more and more into my brother every day._

_I suppose there are worse things to be. But it doesn't quite seem right when Dean isn't himself yet. It's almost like we've switched roles. Not that I mind – I've been telling him for a long time that he doesn't always have to watch out for me. That I need to watch out for him, too._

_This journal is starting to sound like a broken record. _

_Whatever. It's true. I need to watch out for Dean. He helped me get over my nightmares with Jess. So now it's my turn. I need to help him get over these. Or at least make it so he can sleep a little longer. I'm pretty sure he would heal faster if he could sleep for longer periods of time._

_As for my own nightmares… well. I'll deal with them on my own. Dean's higher priority right now._

Sam surged upwards in his bed with a gasp. In the next bed, Dean echoed his movements, Sam's name dying on his lips.

For a long moment they both panted for air, although Sam's gasping breaths were a little quieter than Dean's. Sam tilted his head to glance at his brother and he swallowed hard when he saw how Dean's eyes were squeezed shut, tear tracks on his cheeks glistening in the moonlight that was streaming in through the window. "Dean?"

Dean's shoulders slumped at the croaky whisper and he rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his eyes. "I'm sorry."

Sam twisted in his bed so his bare feet were resting on the worn wooden floor. "For what?"

Dean sighed, sliding up in his bed so he could rest his back against the headboard. "For this. For not being able to get a grip. For waking you up all the time."

Sam swallowed guiltily, forcing his own nightmare to the back of his mind, trying not to picture Dean chained… bleeding… "Dean-"

Dean swung his head back into the headboard with a solid thunk, making Sam flinch. "I thought that once I got out… everything would be fine."

"Well, then, you were an idiot," Sam replied bluntly, moving so that he was perched on Dean's bed near his feet.

Dean's eyes shot open finally and he stared hard at his younger brother. "What?"

"For denying you wouldn't be affected by what happened. I doubt I have to remind you where you went," Sam said a little more gently, not missing the shiver that raced through his brother's body. "Dean, no one could have gone through what you did and not be affected."

Dean shifted, rolling his shoulders slightly. "It's been almost two weeks. I should've been able to suck it up by now." Sam snorted, rolling his eyes. Dean cocked his head. "What? You don't agree, I'm guessing?"

"No, I don't. Dean, if you were over it, I'd be way more worried than I am right now. You're human, Dean – you're allowed to feel a little sometimes."

"Yeah, well, you know how I handle touchy-feely crap," Dean shot back with a growl. Sam chuffed through his nose, a small smirk twisting his lips. Dean sighed again, letting his eyes slide shut. "Thought I was supposed to be a superhero," he whispered.

Sam smiled sadly. "Yeah, but you're Batman – not Superman, Dean. Batman's only human, too."

Dean chuckled, his eyes shooting open to look gratefully at his brother. "I guess that makes you Robin."

Sam shrugged. "Better than Batgirl, I suppose."

Dean laughed out loud at that one. It was a little hollow compared to his laughter before Hell, but it still made Sam grin. "Batgirl, huh? I'll have to keep that one in mind, Sammy."

"Whatever, jerk," Sam replied, squeezing Dean's ankle faintly before standing and shuffling back to his bed.

"Bitch," Dean replied as he settled back down so he was flat on the bed. Sam smiled and leaned against his own headboard as Dean's body relaxed into the pull of sleep again.

"Thanks, Sammy."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're welcome, Dean."

In the moonlight, he could see a small smile on his brother's face as his breathing evened out into sleep. Sam sighed, leaning over and grabbing his journal.

_I think the nightmares are getting worse._

_A/N: Thanks so much for reading! I would greatly appreciate any and all comments. The next chapter should be up within a few days._

_moogsthewriter_


	4. Day 19

_A/N: Again, thanks for all the reviews, guys - I really appreciate it. They're what keep me writing._

_This chapter is dedicated to LittleFairy78 and Psychologist for making me such an awesome banner... which you can all see over on supernaturalville dot net if you're interested. Also, mega-huge thanks to Jenn1984 for looking over all these chapters for me to make sure they're actually half-decent_

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

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_Day 19_

_Dean just doesn't get it._

_He just doesn't get why I did what I did. I guess, on one hand, that doesn't surprise me much. He never has realized just how important he is – and not just to me, either. So it's not surprising that he doesn't get why I would do what I did to get him back._

_I also think part of it is that when it comes down to life or death things, I don't typically defy his orders. I did this time, though. There was no way I could just go on without him. _

_And actually, I was following orders… in a sense. After all, Dean told me to remember what he and Dad taught me. Well, they always taught me that family comes first –before everything. Before demons, before hunting, before school – everything. _

_Which makes it that much more frustrating that Dean doesn't get it. He of all people should know what it's like to have to lose a best friend – a brother. But he can't get it through his thick skull that he's just as worthy for sacrifice as I am. _

_I do think he does realize why I did it on some level, I guess. I mean, our fight last night wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it was going to be. Granted, Dean still doesn't know about my wounds – and I definitely owe Bobby for leaving that part out of his explanation – so that probably helped my side of the argument out a little, but given what he does know… it wasn't so much an argument as it was a terrified rant on Dean's behalf._

_I can live with that, I guess. For now. But sometime soon I'm gonna have to get Dean to realize he does mean something to a lot of people._

"Man, it feels good to be on the move again!" Dean crowed as he guided the Impala onto the highway.

Sam smiled, settling into his spot in the passenger seat. He suppressed a wince as needles of pain flared up his back when his stitches caught on the ribbed leather. Even though the wounds on his side were mostly healed, the wound over his spine had started oozing blood when Bobby had tried to take the stitches out. Bobby had tried to make him stay a couple extra days, but Sam firmly declined.

Dean still had no idea about his injuries, and Sam wanted it to stay that way.

Not to say that Dean was completely clueless about the situation. Sam knew better. Dean was still Sam's older brother, which meant that as a rule he knew when something was off. A week in Hell hadn't changed that. Sam had noticed Dean shooting more and more suspicious glances his way the longer they had stayed at Bobby's, especially after his own physical wounds started healing.

No, Dean knew something wasn't completely right with Sam.

But then, they both knew that Dean wasn't completely right, either. And for Sam, fixing Dean had become number one priority. Dean had done more than his share to bring Sam back. Now it was Sam's turn to watch out for his brother. Sam's hurts and needs came after… or never.

After all, Dean had given more – everything he had, everything he was had been given to the hunt and to protecting Sam. Dean had saved more people than even he realized.

Sam was convinced Dean was worth more than he ever was.

Nevertheless, two days after they had woken up, Dean had tried asking Sam just what he had done to get him out of Hell, so Sam had answered vaguely to get his brother off his back. How he researched for days straight with Bobby trying to find an answer. How he found a deep meditation spell that let his soul find the essence of the one closest to him. How he used his "Shining" to drag his screaming and bleeding brother out past the gate and back to his body.

Sam was pretty sure Bobby had provided more solid answers to satisfy Dean's curiosity the day before. How it was an ancient medieval spell that used blood ties and emotional bonds to reconnect people with loved ones they had lost. How it wasn't supposed to be quite so literal, actually intended to merely allow the Seeker to communicate with the Lost. How Bobby hadn't known what exactly Sam was planning until the younger Winchester had stopped breathing. How a solid hour of CPR hadn't restarted Sam's heart or lungs. How the researcher had resigned himself to either having both back or none at all.

The resulting "discussion" between the two brothers after that had been far from peaceful. The argument had started in the kitchen after dinner before moving out into the salvage yard, Dean's angry voice reverberating off the piled wrecks of cars. Sam had let Dean rant for twenty minutes straight before quietly interjecting that the "dumb-ass plan" had worked, and they were both alive.

That had shut Dean up real quick.

Shortly after that, Bobby had finished removing the last of Dean's stitches. Sam had then suggested they hit the road again for a change of scenery – not to hunt, but to actually stop and see the sights they had driven by all of their lives. Mount Rushmore. The Grand Canyon. The _largest_ ball of twine – not just the second-largest. Dean had been for it, heading upstairs to go pack and leaving Sam alone with Bobby.

Which was what Sam had been hoping for – he really didn't need Dean knowing about how the wounds he had suffered in his journey to get his brother's soul back had literally affected his physical body. Bobby was already pissed off enough at him – he really didn't need his brother adding to it.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked, brought back to the present by Dean's low call. He rubbed his eyes for a moment before turning to face his brother. "Sorry, what?"

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his brother intently. "I asked if you were still interested in seeing Mount Rushmore. What's up with you?"

"Just thinking. Zoned out. Sorry. I would totally be up for visiting Mount Rushmore, if you want. It doesn't matter much to me," Sam replied with a small smile. At Dean's confused look, he clarified, "You're right. It's just nice to be back on the move again."

Dean stared at Sam for a moment longer before finally smiling, an understanding glint in his eyes. He cleared his throat before softly saying, "I'm sorry."

Sam cocked his head. "For what?"

"For last night. Yelling at you, I mean," Dean replied. "And I'm the first one to get just why you did what you did. I just… I wish… Don't get me wrong, I'm frickin' ecstatic you got me out, but-"

"Don't tell me I shouldn't have done it, Dean," Sam interrupted sternly, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared at his brother. "Don't you do that."

An awkward silence fell over the pair as the Impala tires hummed over the rough blacktop. Finally Dean muttered, "I thought I was supposed to be the one that makes all the sacrifices."

Sam frowned slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"You shouldn't have had to do that, Sam! I'm not worth dying for."

Sam's eyes narrowed swiftly. "Don't you ever think that, Dean. You're my brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do to save you. Just like there's nothing you wouldn't do to save me." He paused as Dean's hand tightened painfully on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "Besides, we both came back. So there really wasn't any sacrifice involved."

"There could've been," Dean replied.

"But there wasn't," Sam shot back.

This time the silence wasn't as uncomfortable as Sam turned to stare out the window. After another mile of gently rolling prairie grass went by, Dean finally murmured, "You're right."

Sam blinked in surprise, turning back to stare at his brother. "What?"

"You're right. We're both back. So… I guess… it didn't turn out as bad as it could've been."

Sam snorted, reaching forward to snag his journal out of the bag at his feet. Dean cocked an eyebrow open as he flipped the book open to a blank page. "What are you doing?"

"Marking this occasion. You actually said I was right," Sam replied dryly, glancing up at his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes, focusing his attention back on the road again. "It has been known to happen on occasion," he declared, a small smirk on his face.

Sam hummed in agreement as he propped one leg up slightly, angling the journal away from his brother's gaze.

_Dean just doesn't get it._

_A/N: As always, comments are loved and appreciated. Thanks for reading!_

_moogsthewriter_


	5. Day 26

_A/N: Only about four chapters or so left, including the epilogue. Thanks so much for all the support - I really do appreciate it. And thanks to Jenn for looking this over for me._

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

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Day 26

It wasn't worth it.

Dean never should have traded himself for me. The consequences of his stay in Hell… saving me just wasn't worth what he went through.

Sometimes I wonder if he feels the same way. I mean… I guess I don't see Dean acting like he feels that way, but I'm still a little worried. Does Dean still think it was worth it?

He's just so broken. It's frustrating – I just want things to go back to the way they were. Hell, as long as I'm wishing, I wish things could go back to the way they were when I was about… ten. Before I decided to question instead of merely follow Dad's orders. Back when we were still truly a united front – all three of us.

I wish Mom never had to die for me.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't ever born. Then Dean and Dad could've had a chance at a normal life. And Mom and Jess would still be alive.

But wishing doesn't get me anywhere, I suppose. All I can do is try and bring Dean back as much as possible. Dad always said actions were louder than words. And he was right – talking about bringing Dean back isn't going to happen if I don't try and do something about it.

There're definitely signs of him coming back – like when I mentioned hunting at Stanford. Before, I never would have mentioned it because I knew Dean would jump all over my ass and try and figure out if I had been wounded – and then would've felt extremely guilty when he found out that the poltergeist got a lucky hit with a gigantic dictionary. I thought Jess and Beck were both going to puke when they saw the way my arm bent.

But I did mention it now – just to see if that Dean would come back. And he did – mostly. As well as could be expected, I guess.

But… there's still a long ways to go. Like the fact that Dean actually talked about his experiences without me repeatedly asking. Actually, I had never asked at all – I guess I wanted to know… but not that badly.

Or the fact that we practically hugged for like half an hour before Dean really noticed anything. Or the fact that he didn't pull away right away. Before, Dean wouldn't have stood for even a minute of that.

We're getting there, I guess. It's gonna be a long road, but we're getting there.

But even if Dean gets… "normal" again… I still don't think it's gonna be worth it. Not for what he went through. And definitely not for what he got out of the deal.

"SAM!"

Sam sat up straight in his hotel bed, his heart racing at the terrified scream. His glance shot towards the other bed as he hurriedly flicked on the light between the beds, and his eyes widened.

"Dean!"

Dean's back was arched in his bed, his head thrust back into the pillow. His mouth was still open in a silent scream, his hands scrabbling at the sheets frantically as he gasped for air. Veins bulged in his neck, and sweat and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Sam immediately moved out of his own bed to his brother's side. His hands hovered just above Dean's shoulders uncertainly. "Dean, wake up! Dean, I'm right here!"

Dean whimpered, his head twisting further in the pillow as his back arched even higher – almost as if he was trying to get away from something. "Sammy…"

Sam's jaw set in resolution. In one swift movement, he looped one hand under his brother's shoulders, lifted Dean's upper body, and slid onto Dean's bed, adjusting their respective positions so that Dean was mostly in his lap, his brother's shoulders pressing into his chest. "Dean! Dean, please, wake up!"

Dean's back suddenly dropped onto Sam's legs and stomach, and his arms and fingers went limp as his eyes shot open. Sam barely managed to suppress a wince as the impact jarred his lower back. Dean's head tipped back and the bright green orbs shot around frantically before resting on his brother's face. "Sammy?" he gasped between pants, his chest heaving under his sweat-soaked t-shirt.

Sam nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat as he wrapped his arms firmly around his brother's shoulders, readjusting Dean slightly so he would be more comfortable. Dean resisted for a brief moment before slumping back against Sam, his head dropping limply to Sam's shoulder. "It was just a dream. Just a dream," the elder hunter breathed, his eyes sliding closed.

Sam swallowed as tears dripped onto his own t-shirt. "I'm right here, Dean. We're both okay. You're okay. We're okay."

After a moment, Dean shook his head weakly. "No, I'm not," he whispered.

Sam felt his stomach clench violently at the brokenness in his brother's whisper. "But you will be."

Dean's shoulders shuddered beneath Sam's firm grip. "I don't know, Sammy. I just – I can't – the nightmares…"

"Trust me, Dean. It's going to take awhile. But I'm gonna make you okay, okay?" Sam replied, tipping his head so he could rest his chin on the top of Dean's head. "We can get through this."

They sat in silence for a little while, Dean's panicked gasps fading away until he was breathing in tandem with Sam. Just when Sam thought Dean had dozed off, the elder Winchester spoke up in a throaty murmur.

"There wasn't… there was nothing there, Sam. Just me. In this void. I was all alone."

Sam closed his eyes, fighting back tears as he remembered the sight of his brother straining against the hooks and chains digging into his flesh… the terrified screams for help… He didn't respond; he merely tightened his hold on his brother, trying to reaffirm his presence – although he wasn't sure how much closer he could get to Dean than he already was.

"An' I tried… I tried to remember," Dean continued, his voice cracking as his body shivered again. "God, I tried so hard… to remember who I was… what I did… anything… _anything_ to keep me human. But… I just… I _couldn't_… it felt like I had been there for an eternity… maybe a couple. The only thing I could remember… the only thing I could say was–"

"My name," Sam finished in a whisper.

Dean nodded, his head rubbing against Sam's chin. "I couldn't even remember _my _name. And then… then I felt you grab me, but… I thought I was just imagining things… and then I remembered… sort of… what happened… and I thought…" He trailed off, his hands reaching up to grip Sam's forearms in a painful hold as if he still needed reassurance that his younger brother was really there. "I thought… I thought – convinced myself you'd died, and that I was just _hoping_ that you were there…"

"You're okay, Dean. You're safe now," Sam murmured as a fine trembling took hold of Dean's body. He continued to murmur reassurances, his voice fading out as Dean gradually relaxed again.

After a long moment, Dean shifted slightly and grunted. "Dude… are we _cuddling_?"

Sam chuckled, able to picture the look on his brother's face even if he wasn't looking directly at him. "I guess we are."

"Well this is a little awkward," Dean muttered. Sam sighed silently, recognizing Dean's attempt at humor for what it was – an attempt. A thinly veiled attempt, nearly shattered the by the subtle tremor in his brother's voice, but still an attempt.

Dean was coming back.

"I guess you'll just have to get over it for the moment," the younger Winchester replied finally, shifting slightly to ease the pull on the stitches in his lower back. "I don't feel like moving."

There was silence for a moment. Finally Dean murmured, "Love you, too, Sammy."

Sam swallowed, giving his brother's shoulders a firm squeeze. After a while, he murmured, "Did I ever tell you I first met Jess while tracking down an Imp?"

Dean's body tensed with surprise, and he jerked his head out from under Sam's chin so he could look up at his brother. "You hunted at Stanford?"

Sam shrugged, tipping his head back against the headboard. "Minor things, mostly. A few Imps – I think there was a group of them living on campus. I never found their nest, but I think it may have been in one of the boiler rooms underground. There was a Nymph that tried to live in the pool for a week." He paused for a moment before adding, "And two spirits and a poltergeist in a house outside Palo Alto."

Dean shot up at that, shifting over to the other side of the bed and twisting around to look at Sam, his eyes wide. "Wait… that was _you_?"

Sam cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

Dean swallowed, a chagrined look crossing his face. He rubbed his neck for a moment before admitting, "I checked that house out. You must've beat me to it by only a day or two – by the time I got there, there was no activity of any kind – just a crap hole of a house. I thought it was just a hoax, 'specially since Bobby hadn't heard of anyone tracking that hunt down." His eyes narrowed. "What the hell were you doing there on your own?"

Sam's lips tilted in a lopsided grin. "Jess, Becky, Zach, and a few others wanted to check it out – see if they could last the night."

"So you went in with a buncha civilians and took care of business," Dean finished, crossing his arms. He shook his head and chuckled exasperatedly. "You can take the boy out of the hunt…"

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied. He ducked his head and chuckled. "I nearly scared Jess to death the first time I saw her," he finally continued, moving so he was on his own bed. He rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers twining together subconsciously. "It was the second semester of my sophomore year. The Imp had been messing around in my dorm – actually took some of my stuff. I followed it to the gym. It, uh… it disappeared in the girls' locker room."

Dean laughed at that, moving so that his feet were millimeters from Sam's on the floor between their beds. "Thatta boy, Sammy."

Sam smirked, glancing up at Dean through the fringe of his hair. "I'd been kinda debating on whether or not to go in when Jess suddenly walked out. She was on the volleyball team at the time, and she was just leaving practice." Sam smiled, his eyes taking on a far-away look as he remembered. "She was wearing these really short spandex shorts and a really tight-fitting cut-off tank-top. We kinda stared at each other for a moment before she finally said, 'Hey, you're in my calc class, right?' Then she asked if I could help her pass the next test… and it kinda went from there."

"Oh my God," Dean breathed, causing Sam's head to jerk up so he could stare at his brother, who had a faintly horrified look on his face. "You really _are _a nerd! Your first date with Jess was a _study session_? I thought I taught you better than that!"

Sam pulled a face and sat back on his bed. "Shut up, jerk."

"Make me, bitch," Dean shot back, smirking as he lay back down on his own bed. Sam clicked the light until there was only one bulb lit. He rolled over and reached down into the duffle bag that was lying next to his bed. His probing fingers collided with cool leather a moment later, and he pulled out his journal.

"Thanks, Sammy."

Sam glanced back over his shoulder as Dean's eyes slid closed. "Get some sleep, man."

Dean kept his eyes closed, but smirked faintly. "That may be difficult, seeing as how I will probably now have nightmares of _studying_ with a really hot girl," he muttered.

Sam couldn't hold back a small grin. "Well, if you wanted, I could tell you about the time Jess –"

"Dude, I really don't think I want to hear it. It would be nice to keep my dinner down, thanks," Dean cut in, his voice soft as he drifted off to sleep again.

Sam chuckled as he rolled back over, his journal firmly in his hand. He watched for awhile as Dean gradually slipped back into a light doze before pulling out his pen.

_It wasn't worth it._

_A/N: As always, I love to read your thoughts and comments. Thanks for reading, and have a great one!_

_moogsthewriter_


	6. Day 39

_A/N: Again, mega thanks for all the reviews. This one is going up without being read first, since I wanted to get something up before my minor surgery this afternoon. It's not a big deal, but it'll be enough to knock me out for a few days. So in the meantime, enjoy! And feedback is always appreciated._

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

* * *

_Day 39_

_We just finished our first hunt since… everything._

_It actually went really well. I don't think Dean feels that way, but I think considering the circumstances, things went okay. Better than normal, actually._

_Okay, so the spirit had an affinity for sharp objects. And yeah, he nearly impaled me a couple of times. But he didn't – just a scratch, actually. Didn't even need stitches._

_Dean handled himself a lot better than I thought he would. I guess I shouldn't have doubted him so much – I mean, he is a Winchester after all. And I'm pretty sure if you were to look up the word "stubborn" in the dictionary, Dean's picture would be there. Well, in the hunting dictionary, anyway._

_Obviously he doesn't feel that way at the moment. He's still ranting in his head, I bet. Probably stuff about "hesitation" and "role reversal" and "stupid little brothers" and "frickin' pissed off spirits". Basically everything he's been ranting about since he decided I wasn't going to bleed to death._

_Man, it's good to have Dean getting back to normal._

_But he doesn't fully understand just why I have to make sure he stays safe – and I don't think I want him to, either. I mean, yeah, the deal is a huge part of it. But every time we go into a hunt now, it's hard for me to not think about what happened at the Mystery Spot._

_And yeah, I'll be the first to admit – it's a definite role reversal on several levels. I mean, not only am I the one trying to lure away spirits, but I'm also the one being secretive – about a lot of things. Although I'm sure there's still things Dean's keeping to himself. That's just the way we are._

_But as annoying as it is, it's a definite sign that Dean's coming back. And that's worth being fussed over._

_At least… for a couple more weeks. As long as it doesn't get out of hand. I can only handle so much over-protective Dean._

"Eyes open, Sammy. Last thing we need is for you to become a human pincushion," Dean murmured as they crept up the stairs.

Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide a faint smile as he readjusted the grip on his sawed-off. "I still can't believe the guy confessed."

Dean shrugged, the movement brushing against Sam's upper arm. "Well, he is practically on his deathbed."

"He's sixty-nine with pneumonia, and he's been hospitalized. He's probably gonna make it, Dean," Sam shot back.

Dean smirked, glancing over his shoulder at his brother. "Then I guess the guilt just got to him. Or maybe the spirit."

"I'm going with door number two," Sam muttered as they stepped onto the third-floor landing of the abandoned apartment complex. "A guy who kills four people, chops them up to bits, and then turns on the guy who did it with him probably doesn't suffer from too much guilt."

"It's like I always say, man – people are crazy," Dean affirmed. "Which room was it?"

Sam stared at his brother for a beat._ I guess you probably really do get demons now, huh?_ "He said the skeleton should be in the back wall of the kitchen in 306," he replied, pointing towards a door that was sagging forward in its frame, only one hinge holding it up. He frowned as the bag across his shoulders slid slightly, bumping at his lower back. He quickly readjusted it to take the pressure off his wound.

Dean strode forward, adjusting his hands so his shotgun was in his right and the axe was in his left. "Let's do this, then."

The pair quietly made their way down the hall, keeping their eyes and ears alert for any sign of Alexander Dodd's vengeful spirit. "Does it seem odd that he hasn't shown up yet?" Sam whispered.

Dean lifted the door up and swung it so it was against the wall. He wrinkled his nose as flecks of paint fluttered into his hair. "Way to jinx it, Sammy," he hissed, brushing the flakes out. "Haven't you ever seen the movies? Anytime someone says something like that, it's bound to make the spirit show up."

Sam rolled his eyes again as they entered the apartment. "Can we just get this over with?"

"Why? You got somewhere you need to be?"

"Yeah – anywhere but here. It sounds like it could collapse at any minute," Sam replied as the floor groaned loudly beneath their feet.

"Maybe you should start cutting back on those girly lattes you keep drinking – have to maintain your figure after all," Dean said with a grin as he gingerly took another step.

Sam snorted. "Maybe _you_ should empty out your stash of Twinkies and Ding-Dongs in the trunk."

Dean paused, glancing over his shoulder at Sam, not quite fully hiding his surprise at being discovered. "Those are for quick energy, I'll have you know."

"Right," Sam replied skeptically with a smirk. Dean huffed and started moving forward again. Sam shook his head, his hair fluttering around his face as he grinned. He'd missed this back-and-forth banter with his brother.

"Did Eriksen happen to say just where in the wall he stuffed Dodd?" Dean asked as they entered the apartment's small kitchen, the cracked linoleum squeaking beneath their feet.

"No," Sam answered, his eyes darting over the far wall of the kitchen. A beat up counter with a cracked Formica top was set against two-thirds of the wall, leaving a wide spot for a refrigerator and a stove in the corner. "But if he was living here, there would've been a stove and a fridge in that spot," he pointed out.

Dean strode forward, his eyes roaming the wall. "There's a pretty good crack here," he declared, rubbing his hand against the wall in the corner. He glanced back at Sam. "You think he moved the fridge, stuck the body there, and walled it up again?"

"Possibly. It would be easier than trying to heft the thing up over a hole above the counter," Sam said, joining his brother. He gingerly set the bag on the ground, flinching as the floor groaned again.

Dean wordlessly handed Sam his shotgun and held the axe in both hands. Sam backed up a step, his eyes wandering over the kitchen looking for any sign of the spirit. Dean settled into a firm stance and launched the axe at the wall.

Two whacks in, a hiss of air suddenly escaped from the small hole in the drywall. Sam whirled as Dean started gagging, wrinkling his nose a moment later as the stale smell of decay wafted under his nostrils. "I think we hit pay dirt," Dean choked out, glancing up at Sam with watery eyes.

"We definitely hit something," Sam replied, swallowing several times and turning back to face the apartment. His eyes widened when he caught sight of a shimmering figure. In one smooth motion he raised his gun and fired. The rock salt fanned out as it hit Dodd, causing the spirit to disappear. "Y'better hurry up, man," he called over his shoulder as he set Dean's gun aside so he could get a better grip on his own.

"Question, Sam," Dean grunted as he started swinging the axe rapidly. "How're we supposed to salt and burn the damn thing? This wall's gonna go up with it."

Sam paused thoughtfully, his eyes still searching for any ghostly movement. "Well… the place is scheduled for demolition, anyway," he finally replied with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder at his brother.

Dean grinned, pausing mid-swing to glance at Sam. "That's what I was hoping you'd say," he replied, attacking the wall full-force again.

Sam snorted, turning back again. He came almost nose-to-nose with a hovering two-by-four. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, dropping to his hands and knees. He felt the wind rustle his hair as the board swung over his head. He aimed the shotgun up and fired, gasping as the kickback jarred his shoulder and the board landed on his back, colliding with his scar.

"Sam?"

"I'm fine – just make it fast!" Sam replied to the panicked call as he scrambled to his feet. He swiftly grabbed a couple of spare shells from his pocket and reloaded his gun. Raising it back up to shoulder height, he started sweeping the room, making sure to stick as close to his brother as he could without getting nailed by the backswing of the axe.

"Yahtzee!" Dean suddenly exclaimed, ripping away a few more boards to reveal a skeleton that had been jammed into the small space between the drywall and the outer wall. Dodd's body had been folded in half, his feet up by his head. The body had mummified in the dry Arizona air, leaving his clothes, skin, and hair relatively intact. "Hello, fugly."

The elder Winchester nearly jumped as another shotgun blast cut through the air. "Dean, move it!" Sam called, cocking the shotgun again.

He could hear his brother hurriedly unzip the duffel bag, digging through the various items searching for the tin of salt and the bottle of lighter fluid. "Geez, Sam, how much crap did you throw in here?"

Sam chose not to reply, instead grabbing up a discarded piece of wood Dean had tossed aside and using it like a bat to deflect a screwdriver the ghost had found. "Really not a good time, Dean!"

He heard Dean mutter something under his breath before giving a small "Ha!" of triumph. Shortly thereafter he heard the large grains of rock salt hitting the walls of the metal canister as Dean shook it over the bones.

"Damn, this guy's persistent!" Sam grunted as Dodd appeared again. He took a step back as the spirit hoisted an arsenal of debris into the air, its ghostly features twisted into an angry leer. With a startled gulp, Sam raised his gun as Dodd sent the debris flying at the Winchesters. The rock salt caused the spirit to disappear, but not in time to prevent a dulled and dented kitchen knife from connecting with Sam's outstretched forearm.

A great _whoosh_ nearly drowned out Sam's hiss of pain, but Dean still caught the sound. He whirled around and grabbed Sam's shoulder. "Where?" he demanded, the flickering firelight casting long shadows on his face.

Sam was already applying pressure on the four-inch gash. "Dean, it's fine-"

"_Where_, Sammy?"

Sam huffed a sigh, turning to face Dean head-on now that Dodd's remains were on fire. "See? Not that bad," he said, suppressing a squeak of pain as Dean probed at the gash. He gestured at the fire which was rapidly consuming the kitchen wall. "Can we deal with this later?"

Dean made a face, but quickly gathered up their equipment and led the way down the stairs and out to the Impala. Smoke was already billowing up towards the early-morning sky, orange flames flickering out of a third-floor window. "We need to book before the fire department shows up," Dean said tersely, tossing the duffel bag into the trunk. He grabbed a towel and tossed it to Sam before slamming the lid shut. "Don't even think about getting blood on the leather," he added with a hint of a smirk as he jogged to the driver's side.

Sam rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arm with the towel and yanked the door open. He settled into his seat with a sigh, his eyes sliding closed as needles of pain raced up his forearm and across his lower back. The ache in his back eased slightly with the familiar rumble of the car as Dean pulled away from the burning building.

"You okay?"

Sam smiled faintly, leaving his eyes shut as he nestled his head in its familiar spot on the top of the bench seat. "Feels good to be doing this again," he mumbled sleepily.

"Even when you get sliced open?"

Sam popped an eye open at Dean's skeptical tone. "Dude, it wasn't your fault. It's just a scratch."

"Yeah, 'cuz scratches bleed through towels," Dean shot back sarcastically.

Sam raised his head off the seat to stare at his brother. "What's your problem?" he demanded. "We're back on the hunt. We just frickin' burned a three-story building down! Why aren't you more excited about this?"

Dean fidgeted in his seat, his grip on the steering wheel tightening to white-knuckled strength. "I just… I dunno," he finally muttered.

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Well that's specific."

"You're not supposed to be the one getting hurt!"

"Since when? Aren't you the one always pointing out that my 'shining' or whatever always attracts trouble?" Sam pointed out. "Besides, you were the one who wanted to chop the place up."

"Only 'cuz I knew you wouldn't have it any other way," Dean replied firmly. Sam's head jerked in surprise. "Don't give me that look," Dean said, glancing out the corner of his eye. "You know what I'm talking about. Even before… before, you were always trying to throw yourself in front of me. That's _my_ job."

Sam's eyes narrowed slightly as he readjusted his grip on the towel. "No, it's not. We're a team, Dean. That's both our jobs."

Dean sighed forcefully but didn't reply, and they traveled the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. Sam stared out the window as the sun rose, his frustration with his brother not completely drowning out the euphoric feeling the hunt had given him.

Thirty minutes later Sam was stepping out of the bathroom, his shaggy wet hair plastered to his head as he readjusted his dark t-shirt, making sure to hide the stitches still in his back. "Let me see," Dean declared softly, breaking the silence and pointing at Sam's bed.

Sam's lips twitched in a faint smile as he silently sat down on the bed and allowed Dean to examine the knife wound on his arm. The elder Winchester probed at it carefully before rinsing it with holy water and rubbing alcohol. "I think we can get away without stitches," he said, grabbing the bandages from the first aid kit. He wrapped Sam's arm quickly and efficiently.

"Thanks," Sam murmured gratefully as Dean packed away the kit.

Dean glanced at him out of one eye as he set the kit on the floor. "Better have left me some hot water, Francis," he said finally, digging through his duffel for a change of clothes. He paused before closing the bathroom door. "Oh, and don't spend too long writing in your diary."

"It's a journal, Dean. I know you have one, too," Sam shot back, a touch of exasperation in his voice.

Dean smirked as he framed his face between the door and the doorframe. "You write a lot more than I do, Samantha. It's one chromosome away from being a diary, bitch."

"Jerk!" Sam called as Dean slammed the door shut. He shook his head ruefully as he dug out the leather-bound book and propped it open on the mattress in front of him.

_We just finished our first hunt since… everything._

_A/N: Oh, and just so y'all know, the diary v. journal line was inspired by a review from **lostatc**, so thanks for the inspiration! As always, comments are loved - they will give me something very happy to read after I wake up today. Thanks for reading, and have a great one!_

_moogsthewriter_


	7. Day 51

_A/N: Again, mega thanks for all the reviews. It was very nice to come back and read those. I'm planning on two more chapters after this one, so buckle down! Also, I have finally created my own livejournal, so if any of you are on there, I would love to "friend" you... and I would appreciate advice on just how to get around, as I'm a little slow with that kind of stuff._

_Thanks to Jenn1984 for convincing me this is good enough to post._

**_Disclaimer: I don't own. And I've salted my windows and doors, so I should be safe from any and all demonic activity. _**

* * *

_Day 51_

_I am such a screw-up._

_I really should've seen this coming. How could I not see this wasn't a spirit?_

_We shouldn't have pushed it. But we were both feeling pretty good after the Arizona trip. We even drove down to see the Grand Canyon – which was spectacular. We tracked down a Wendigo nearby and took care of it without a problem, so we never thought about turning Bobby down when he called with another job. It was supposed to be a simple haunting – supposedly the spirit of Eliza Dowry was possessing people when they entered her old house. Both Dean and I (and Bobby) figured it would be another simple salt and burn. _

_Only problem is that there is no such thing as a simple salt and burn. Especially on cases like this, where it's not a spirit._

_It was a demon._

_A minor demon, minor enough to register as a spirit on Bobby's radar, but still… a demon. I guess the Winchester luck is running true to form once again._

_Needless to say, Dean isn't handling it very well. And it doesn't help that the exorcism did something to him, too – not just the demon._

_It's like we've taken eighty steps back for our two steps forward. Dean won't even look at me. Not that I blame him. If I were him, I wouldn't want to look at me, either. Not when I screwed this up so badly._

_Damn it, I can even do an exorcism any more without hurting my brother!_

_I feel like I should call Bobby. I could really use his advice. But I know he'll feel absolutely terrible about sending us on that hunt, even though what happened wasn't his fault. He's like five states over – there's no way either Dean or I would blame him._

_But I should've known better. I had a… not necessarily a vision. More of a premonition, I guess. A feeling. A sense that something wasn't right about this case. But I ignored it because… quite frankly… I'm a little freaked. That wound on my back still hasn't healed, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't really go to a doctor, and I can't tell Dean or Bobby – Dean still doesn't know – and I intend to keep it that way – and I think I've convinced Bobby that it's pretty much all healed up by now. But it's not. It always hurts, and now I'm starting to get premonitions again. Like before Jess died. _

_I don't know exactly what the demon said to Dean, but I bet it had something to do with the fact that despite everything, I'm still headed down the path Yellow-Eyes carved for me. That Dean sold his soul for the Antichrist. She knew that I had had a bad feeling about this hunt, after all. She threw in references to my abilities every chance she could. And the way Dean looked at me when she whispered in his ear…_

_The last thing Dean needs to deal with is the possibility that the demon was right – that I wasn't worth the deal._

_Which, honestly, I agree. This incident shows just how much of a danger I am to Dean. I should've made him stay at the hotel, or drugged him, or left him in the Impala or something. I knew it wasn't a normal gig, I knew something was off, and I still led Dean right into it._

_If it weren't for the fact that Dean needs me – or at least, needs someone around to help him through this – I would seriously consider leaving. All I've ever done is screw up. I couldn't even save that girl tonight. Everywhere I go, people I know and care about get hurt or get killed. Mom, Jess, Dad, Madison – and Dean. Dean most of all. He never should have had to suffer what my existence has put him through. Without me, none of this would have happened._

_What's dead should stay dead. Dean never should have brought me back._

"Adios, Eliza," Dean declared with a smirk as he tossed the lit matches into the grave. A familiar _whump_ of fire consuming lighter fluid echoed through the small clearing as the brothers watched the skeleton disintegrate.

Finally Dean's eyes shot up to meet Sam's. "C'mon, we'd better go make sure that Amanda chick is alright."

"Just as long as she doesn't try groping me again," Sam muttered, slinging the muddy shovel over one shoulder as he glanced back at the dark house. His eyes narrowed as a shiver raced up his spine, causing the ache in his lower back to flare up. He had pretty much resigned himself to the constant throb of the wound, as no amount of painkiller over the last few weeks had done anything to drive it away.

Dean merely laughed as they trudged back up towards the house. "I may not be psychic, but I definitely sensed that Eliza was into you," he quipped.

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed. "How long are you going to be giving me crap about this?" he asked resignedly.

Dean smirked. "I'm thinking at least a good ten days." He suddenly clasped his hands together, fluttered his eyelashes, and sent his voice two octaves higher. "'I bet I could give those arms a good workout, darlin'.'"

"Shuddup," Sam growled, punching his brother lightly on the shoulder.

Dean laughed again as he shoved the front door open and flicked on the dim light. "I'm tellin' ya, Sammy, chicks-"

The shovel suddenly flew out of Sam's grasp, and a moment later both Winchesters were pinned to the wall on either side of the door. "-the hell?" Dean gasped.

"Funny you should be the one to mention _that_, Dean-o," a low voice called from the shadows. A moment later the woman they had thought was possessed by the spirit of Eliza Dowry stepped out, a smirk on her face as she stared up at the pinned pair.

"Oh, _shit_," Sam hissed when he saw the inky-black film covering the girl's eyes. On the other side of the doorway, he sensed rather than saw the blood drain from Dean's face.

The girl – _Amanda_, Sam thought faintly – blinked, and her sea-green eyes reappeared as she stared at Sam. "Don't sound so surprised, Sammy," the demon declared, tilting her head and grinning as she strutted towards Sam. His skin prickled and the ache in his back flared up again as she ran a manicured nail across his chest, the fabric on his shirt plucking from the movement. She stood on her tiptoes, her hot breath flowing across the nape of his neck as she murmured, "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"I don't-"

"Save it for later," the demon hissed, waving her hand sharply. Sam's jaw shut with a painful snap, his teething colliding loudly. The demon chuckled as Sam grunted when she shoved her nails into his chest, gouging through the cloth of his shirt just above his heart.

"Leave him alone, bitch," Dean growled through gritted teeth. Sam's breath caught in his throat at the sound of his brother's voice. To most people, there was no noticeable difference – Dean sounded just as defiant and cocky as ever. But Sam could hear the underlying fear adding a subtle tremor to Dean's voice – and judging by how the smirk grew on the demon's face as she turned to face the older Winchester, she had picked up on it, too.

"Now, Dean, that hurts – right here," she cooed, laying her hand over her heart. Sam noticed with some surprise that there were specks of blood – his blood – coating the tips of the nails. "After all, we're practically family."

Sam grunted forcefully at that as the demon started running her fingers across Dean's chest this time. "Hands off," Dean grunted.

The demon clucked her tongue, her hands moving to roam under Dean's jacket. "I can't help that you Winchesters come in such yummy packaging," she purred, licking her lips as she looked up at Dean. Dean's face twisted in a grimace as Sam tried to curse at the woman through forcefully closed lips.

"Whaddya want?"

The demon tilted her head, her lips curling into a playful smile. "Oh, I think you know of all people would know, Dean-o. Having been tainted and all." Her eyes flicked to black as she lowered her lips to Dean's neck. "I'm just here for a little fun."

She jerked backwards as Dean managed to slam his chin into her temple. She growled, eyes flashing as she stared at the pair. "You know, we were all sorely disappointed when Sammy there pulled out the Azazel Gift card to get you out of the deal." Sam and Dean shot glances at each other, neither coming up with a solution to get out of this mess.

The demon looked at Dean through hooded eyelids, coming back up to caress his stomach and chest. Sam noticed that she seemed to be tracing the Hellhound scars he knew were hidden underneath Dean's tee. "We didn't even get a chance to play with you, Dean. Lilith wouldn't let you out of the Abyss because she wanted to finish little Sammy first before getting to the real fun."

"W-what? What're you talking about?" Dean's voice was croaky, and his breaths were starting to become gasps.

She grinned, her eyes flashing black again. Sam swallowed when he saw Dean flinch slightly. "You didn't even make it down to Hell, Dean-o. You were in the Abyss when the Boy King over there pulled you out – the Waiting Room, as it were. Lilith wanted to make sure the great Dean Winchester was broken and defeated before we even got a chance at you. Some of us weren't too happy with that idea, but Lilith is… Lilith, so we didn't have much of a choice." Her grin widened as she breathed against his ear.

Sam couldn't hear her next words over the pounding heartbeat in his ears, but whatever she said caused Dean's already pale face to pale even further, and his bright green eyes darted over in Sam's direction before focusing on the floor as she continued whispering in his ear.

Suddenly Sam noticed that the hold on him had lessened, most likely because the demon was distracted in tormenting Dean. With a soft grunt his forced his jaws apart, swallowed, and then began chanting.

"_Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-"_

The effect was almost instantaneous on both the demon and Dean. The demon staggered away from Dean, her limbs stiff and her back arched. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, his face twisting in pain as he grunted softly. Sam paused for a moment, horrified when he realized the exorcism was affecting his brother.

The demon took advantage of Sam's distraction, throwing her head back. The skin covering Amanda's throat rippled grotesquely as a plume of black smoke shot out of her mouth. As Amanda's body fell back to the ground, the black cloud hovered for a moment, twisting around Dean before shooting out the door and into the night.

Both Winchesters dropped to their hands and knees with heavy thuds. For a moment the only sounds were Sam's quick pants and Dean's gasping breaths. Sam stared at Dean, who was barely preventing himself from curling up into a small ball. When he spoke, his voice was a croak. "Dean…"

Dean flinched and moved forward to check on the girl. Sam could tell by the empty look in Amanda's eyes that she was dead, but said nothing as Dean checked her pulse. After a long moment, Dean sighed and gently closed her eyes with his fingers. He rocked backwards onto his feet and stood straight.

"We'll have to phone in an anonymous tip," he murmured, grabbing the shovel off the floor. He paused, keeping his back to Sam. "I'll go fill in the grave. Get everything ready to go."

Sam scrambled to his feet as Dean headed for the door. "Dean-"

Dean ignored him, hoisting the shovel over his shoulder and silently heading back for the clearing in the woods, leaving Sam standing in silence.

Sam moved to the doorway and watched as Dean disappeared into the trees, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed low. He never once looked back at the house – or at Sam. When Dean faded from sight, Sam silently gathered up their equipment, making sure to wipe down any prints in the room they might have left. Casting one last sad glance at the dead woman, he headed towards the Impala.

The squeaky hinge cut through the silence as Sam collapsed into the passenger seat. He closed his eyes and tipped his head against the cool glass of the window, swallowing several times. Finally he leaned forward, wiping moisture from his eyes as he pulled his journal out of the glove compartment.

__

I am such a screw-up.

A/N: Thanks again for reading, and as always, comments are appreciated! Have a great one!

moogsthewriter


	8. Day 52

_A/N: Sorry to take so long. I hope every one in the U.S. had a very happy Fourth of July... I know I did. _

_This chapter is a little bit different in the journal part - I think you'll understand why after you go all the way through. But the grammar mistakes are supposed to be in the journal entry. Any other mistakes aren't. There's only the epilogue after this, although it's working out to be rather long, so stick with me! And thanks so much again for all of the support - I really do appreciate it._

_Mega-thanks to Jenn for convincing me that this chapter works._

**_Disclaimer: Not mine._**

_Day 52_

_I hate demons._

_They took Mom. Dad. Jess. And they took Dean._

_And they're responsible for what's happening to that wound on my back._

_I think I've been realizing it for awhile. I mean, I guess I should've known something right away. Although I was kind of thinking it was due to Azazel's blood in me. And that could still be part of it, I guess. Probably is – it is supposed to be a catalyst for me going Dark Side I think. Which could what happening here. Although feels more like dying._

_That wouldn't be bad. Except for fact that it would probably kill Dean – again. Although… right now, maybe wouldn't. It would be more of a relief, actually. Dean doesn't really want to be around me, anyway. _

_Dying would be better than going Dark Side. By a long shot. I know it… Dad knew it. I don't want_

_I keep screwing everything up. I let more demons out when I got Dean. That's just what we need to deal with._

_Dean… I told Dean off for keeping secrets when I'm still keeping biggest– that I'm more a Demon than he is. That the thing killed Mom practically made me his kid. _

_I feel like crap. I wonder when Dean's coming back. I hope soon._

_No I don't. He didn't want to see me before. He definitely won't want to see this. I just wish I_

_I'm pretty sure I never got my brother back._

_My brother doesn't want me back anymore._

_My brot_

_Dean_

_I'm sorry. Live_

_Lov_

Sam tensed as he heard the tell-tale signs of Dean getting ready to leave the bathroom. He kept his eyes glued to the Solitaire game on the computer screen as the knob turned. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean emerge as steam billowed out of the bathroom. Dean tossed his dirty clothes in the vague direction of his duffle bag, his eyes practically glued to his watch. "Hey, I think I'm gonna walk down to the store and grab somethin' to eat," he declared, moving to put on his boots.

Sam raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the game, moving the nine of diamonds onto the ten of spades. "We just ate like two hours ago."

"And I'm hungry again. Is that a problem?" Dean shot back, keeping his eyes on his hands as he laced up his boots.

Sam bit the inside of his cheek, closed his eyes, and silently breathed out through his nose as the pain in his back flared up again. The ache had been steadily growing worse ever since their encounter with the demon at the Dowry house yesterday, and it was taking all of Sam's self-control to not react to it.

There were more pressing problems to deal with, after all. Namely, the one standing in front of him.

"Did you want anything?" Dean asked as he rose and snagged his leather jacket off the back of the beat-up chair near the door.

"No." Sam finally looked up from the computer at his brother's back. "Are we ever going to talk?"

Dean's shoulders stiffened and he turned to look at Sam. "I thought that's what we were doing – you know, I say something like 'I'm going for food' and you reply. I'm pretty sure that qualifies as talking."

Sam shot Dean a look. "I meant about what happened."

Dean's eyes narrowed as he swallowed. "We already talked about that."

"Uh huh. Because, 'I'm fine, leave it alone, how are you' qualifies as a full conversation."

"Well, it's true. You should still leave it alone, you had some crazy chick dig her nails into your chest and who _knows_ where those have been – I still think you could get rabies or HIV or something – and I'm fine."

"No, you're not, Dean!" Sam huffed, springing to his feet and pointing a finger at Dean. "You're avoiding me. You've barely slept, you're jumpy, you're leaving every chance you get, and you frickin' _walk_ whenever you can when you could just as easily drive. So _obviously_ something about me must be bugging you, so out with it already! What did she say to you?"

Dean swallowed again, and Sam could see the faintest hint of panic tinting his eyes as his grip tightened on his jacket. "This isn't about you, Sam."

"Bull. Shit."

Dean blinked in surprise at the vehement declaration. Sam whirled on his heel and paced towards the wall before turning back to face Dean. "I'm pretty sure this has _everything_ to do with me. I'm not an idiot, Dean. I saw the look you gave me when she was whispering in your ear. What did she tell you?"

"I told you to leave it alone, damn it!"

"Yeah, 'cuz that's always a good idea, isn't it?" Sam shot back. "You keeping secrets from me?"

Sam knew immediately he had gone too far even as Dean recoiled visibly. "I don't need to listen to this crap. I'll be back in an hour," he grunted, forcefully shoving on his jacket and yanking the door open in one swift move.

"Dean," Sam began, but was nearly drowned out as the door slammed shut. He crossed the room in four strides and pulled the curtain aside slightly to watch his brother march angrily down the street towards the local grocery store, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat.

With a frustrated sigh, Sam flicked the curtain back into place and whirled back to face the room, forcing a hand through his hair. "Damn it!" he finally shouted, flipping the chair by the door onto its side with one hand. He stared at it spitefully, as if it were the one driving Dean away instead of him.

Suddenly the pain in his back flared to a white-hot intensity, driving him to his knees. Sam's entire body arched, his head snapping backwards as the pain climbed up his spine like a spider made of knives. He moaned low in the back of his throat, the groan growing louder the closer the pain got to his skull. His body switched from arching back to curling in on itself, his long fingers gripping at Dean's bedspread tightly as his forehead touched the thin, stained carpet.

His vision went white when the pain finally travelled through his neck and into the base of his skull, flaring through his head as if someone had nailed him with a sledgehammer. He was faintly aware of a distant scream, and after another pain-filled moment, he realized it was his own.

Then the white went dark, and images started flashing behind his eyelids. Sam saw himself back at Bobby's, sitting Indian-style next to Dean's pale and lifeless body as Bobby drew a series of symbols around the pair. Then it flashed to him thrusting his arms forward, blowing the gigantic black wrought-iron gate backwards. Numerous clouds of black smoke shot out towards the direction Sam had come from as he strode forward, bellowing his brother's name at the top of his lungs. The scene cut back to South Dakota, where Bobby was frantically pumping Sam's chest, practically sobbing, "_Breathe_, Sam! _Breathe_, damn it!" as Sam's head lolled limply on the wooden floor, bumping with Dean's shoulder a couple of times. Then a dark cloud shot into the room, twisting once around Bobby, who seemed not to notice its presence as he continued to try and force Sam to breathe. The demon then moved to swirl around Sam's body. Sam felt a faint flare of pain from the wounds on his back and side, and his eyes widened as he realized the demon was cutting him in the same places where he had been slashed trying to get to Dean.

Then a shadow covered everything, and the pain in Sam's skull began to recede. Gradually it retreated back down his spine until only the area directly around the scar from where Jake had stabbed him was throbbing. The sulfur scent in his nose gave way to a mixture of cigarette smoke and bleach.

Sam swallowed, his throat grating painfully as he tried to work up some saliva. He gingerly tried to stretch out his legs, but he was impeded by something wrapped around them. When he tried to move his arms, he realized they were pinned, too. He forced his eyes open, blinking a few times as the fluorescent lights blinded him, and was faintly surprised to find he was all caught up in the bedspread.

He raised his head up a few inches off the floor, which was difficult since it felt like it weighed four times as much as it normally did, and looked around. Somehow he had wedged his body in the narrow space between the two beds. Dean's blankets and sheets were piled on the floor around him, and his own bedspread had been pulled halfway off the bed. After a few minutes of uncoordinated thrashing, Sam managed to get to his hands and knees. With a groan, he flung an arm out, grabbed the edge of Dean's mattress, and forced himself up to half-standing position, his head still nearly level with his waist.

He really wished Dean was around. It would've made this a whole lot easier.

Wincing as the pain in his back flared again, he stumbled backwards until he was sitting on his bed. He sighed deeply, propping his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands as he tried to breathe through the pain.

_That's it, man… in… out… in… out… you'd think a pre-law student would be able to remember something as basic as breathing… c'mon, Sammy, just keep breathing, dude…_

A painful lump formed in Sam's throat at the memory of Dean coaching him through the aftermath of one of his visions, and he wished even more for Dean. "How did everything get so screwed up?" he murmured, his voice hoarse from screaming.

There was no answer. No rough voice trying to joke everything away and make it all better. No firm presence to keep him anchored to the real world.

No Dean.

Sam sighed again, sitting up straighter. The room spun for a moment, but to his surprise the headache was already receding. The pain in his back, however, was not. And he could feel the t-shirt underneath his button-up clinging to his lower back and pulling at the stitches, and he knew that the wound across his spine was bleeding a little.

At least, he hoped it was only a little.

_So… what the hell was that?_ Sam wondered, rubbing his right temple with an index finger and squeezing his eyes shut. Vague memories of the images he had seen flashed across his mind again. _It wasn't really a vision… because it was showing me the past. But why?_

The silence was nearly deafening, making Sam huff in frustration. He really, really needed a way to think through all of this, and since Dean wasn't there to talk with him… he'd just have to settle for the next best thing.

He turned and sprawled across his bed, scrabbling for the duffle bag on the floor on the other side. His hand clenched around his journal, and with a grunt he pulled it up onto his bed. He didn't even sit up to write. He just grabbed the pen, yanked the top off with his teeth, spat it on the floor, and began scribbling. His handwriting was off because he was still sprawled on his stomach, and he was shivering, but he kept writing even as his mind started going hazy again.

_I hate demons._

_A/N: Only one chapter left! Thanks again for reading, and as always, comments are appreciated!_

_moogsthewriter_


	9. Epilogue: Through Fire and Flame

_A/N: Sorry to keep y'all waiting for so long. Life got busy, computer fried my laptop, dog knocked it off the table, lost all of my files that I've written within the last eight months (which is a TON)... it's been a hectic couple weeks to say the least. _

_In any case, this is the last chapter - hope it satisfies. There is another author's note at the end, but I'll let you get to the good stuff. All the Latin is courtesy of Wikipedia, and any mistakes are mine. Super-huge thanks to Jenn for betaing this for me even though she had a million other things to do. _

**_Disclaimer: Not mine - next season would already be going up if it was._**

_"We are here to help each other get through this thing, whatever it is."  
-Mark Vonnegut _

_-_SPN-SPN-SPN-

**_We need to talk, Sammy._**

**_Seriously. _**

**_First off… I told you this was a diary. Freak. I'm surprised you didn't write down what clothes I was wearing each day or something equally girly._**

**_Seriously, though, dude. Don't you ever think anything that's happened to us was your fault. Especially with what happened at the house. 'Cuz, dude, hate to break it to ya, but I can still see when a demon's possessing someone. And that Amanda chick? She wasn't possessed when we first started the gig. Not by a demon, anyway. So it must've happened when we were torching the bones._**

**_In any case, it wasn't your fault. And don't ever, ever, EVER think I regret what I did last year. 'Cuz I don't – never have, never will. Got it? You're the only thing that's been keeping me sane through all this. _**

**_And yeah… we've obviously been keeping stuff from each other. We're gonna have to talk about that. Especially about why you didn't tell me what happened to you when you got me out of Hell. Don't ever keep stuff like that from me again. 'Cuz that didn't turn out so well, now, did it?_**

**_And about what that crazy chick said to me… yeah. We definitely need to talk about that. _**

**_But no matter what, you better get this through your thick skull – we're family. You're my brother, and no amount of demon blood or visions or premonitions or even Hell is gonna change that, you hear me?_**

**_Yeah, dude. Face it. We still got work to do. There're a lot of demons out there that need a serious ass-kicking. And we're gonna be the ones to do it. You're stuck with me through the long haul. Hope you're ready to deal with that._**

Dean hunched his shoulders as he strode down the street, trying to block the cool breeze blowing against his back. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, which made the cool air feel even colder. He yanked a hand out of his pocket and flipped up the leather collar before shoving his hand back into his jacket.

He wished he could block out the thoughts as easily as the chill.

_"How sure are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?"_

The plastic bag swinging from Dean's left forearm rustled a bit as it nudged his leg. He shifted his weight slightly as he walked, and the bag swung freely again. There had been fresh-picked apples from a local orchard for sale just outside the store, and Dean had picked up a dozen, along with a couple containers of strawberries as a sort of peace offering for Sam. There was a mini-fridge in their room to store it in, and Dean figured between the two of them they'd finish the fruit off pretty quickly. Just because he made fun of Sam for liking salad over a cheeseburger didn't mean he didn't appreciate a good apple every once in a while.

_"You're still losing him."_

Dean swallowed, kicking at a loose pebble on the sidewalk in front of him. He'd stormed out of the motel room in a desperate effort to _not_ think about what the demon had told him the day before.

It wasn't working. Everything she had told him was still running through his head.

_"You can see the truth now, can't you? You're still losing him. Your brother's even more tainted than you are. You can see it – the shadow always around him. It's nothing new, really. It's been there since your mother died – for him, don't forget. Your mommy's dead because of your little baby brother. So is your dad. And I doubt I have to remind you of your own deal. Your entire family suffered because of the Boy Who Would Be King. It's all. His. Fault."_

Dean licked his lips and chewed on the bottom one. He had _wanted_ to deny it, to say that nothing that had happened was Sam's fault – because it really wasn't, he _knew_ that – but Sam had started the exorcism before he'd had the chance to defend his brother. The feel of knives twisting in his chest had driven any kind of reply out of his mind.

But the sickening part was that some of it _was_ true. Dean _could_ see the shadow around Sam now – and to be honest, it freaked him out.

_"How sure are you that what you brought back is one hundred percent pure Sam?"_

At first, he had tried to deny it. The shadow had appeared around the same time he'd started having hallucinations before the hell hounds came. It wasn't much at first – just an odd shadow on Sam's face while they were sitting in a diner. Dean had chalked it up to exhaustion and bad fluorescent lighting.

But the closer it got to midnight, the darker the shadow around Sam grew, and it wasn't just on his face, either. His entire body seemed to be shrouded in an odd shadow. It was especially bad any time Ruby brought up the idea of Sam releasing his "gifts" to save Dean. That was when Dean decided it was another hallucination, something to try and break him before the hell hounds had even touched him. Demons lie, after all.

Unless the truth was more painful. Dean knew that better than anyone. After all, it was how ol' Yellow Eyes was nearly able to break him in that cabin years ago – spouting off everything Dean had ever believed about his role in the Winchester family, and wearing his father's face to boot. The mangling of his insides and the semi smashing into the Impala were just icing on the angst-filled cake.

Once Dean had come down from the euphoria of being out of Hell, he had realized the demons hadn't been messing with him as much as he had hoped. The shadow still hung around Sam like an ominous fog, and Dean had been forced to face the reality of the situation. The night his deal came due, Bobby had told him he was "piercing the veil" when he realized he could see the demons possessing people. Apparently, that was a "gift" he hadn't lost after Sam had brought him back. He could still see the shadow around Sam, and he'd seen the demon possessing Amanda at the house, too – that demon hadn't shown up until after they'd already salted and burned the bones.

In any case, Dean figured he understood Sam a little better now – they both had "gifts" they really didn't want.

The only consolation had been that the darkness around Sam wasn't as dark as it had been before, and Dean was able to ignore it – most of the time. There were occasional moments where the darkness around his brother spiked. Like back at the house. When the demon attacked them, the shadows around Sam had darkened almost to the point where Dean could hardly recognize his brother. Between that and the effect the exorcism had on him, Dean was seriously starting to doubt himself and his ability to continue in this "profession" of theirs.

Dean's shoulders curved even more as he paused at a crosswalk. He watched the lazy flow of traffic absentmindedly as thoughts swirled in his head until his mind landed on one solid idea.

What kind of hunter was he if he was affected by the same words that drove out demons?

And what about Sam? Dean had been keeping as close of an eye on his brother as he could, and for all intents and purposes, Sam was… Sam. For the most part, anyway. Some of the changes in Sam's behavior, like the angsty over-protectiveness and the extreme urge for chick-flick moments, were understandable and expected – Dean felt much the same, to be honest. Not that he'd ever admit it or submit himself to such tendencies.

But Sam was definitely keeping things from Dean – more than he ever had before, even after Jessica's death – and it was starting to drive the older brother mad. Sam had secrets before, but he wasn't usually so good about hiding them. Dean wouldn't have figured Sam was hiding something big – and didn't at first – if he hadn't seen Sam scribbling things down in his journal nearly every single day, sometimes for longer periods than other days. Oftentimes the darkness would flare up a bit when he was writing. It took all of Dean's self-control not to grab the thing and see if he could figure out the puzzle that was Sam.

_"You're still losing him."_

Dean chewed his lip as he crossed the street. Was he? Despite everything, was he still going to loose Sam to his "destiny"? Was Sam still going to go Dark Side despite all of their efforts to keep him from becoming that?

Dean paused in the parking lot, laying one hand on the cool black metal of the Impala. He smiled faintly as he traced the curve of the hood.

_"You frickin' walk whenever you can when you could just as easily drive."_

Dean paused mid-motion as Sam's frustrated voice rang through his head. Sam had nailed it on the head when he accused Dean of being far less than fine. And he _had_ been avoiding Sam – but not because of what the demon said. Well, at least, not in the way Sam was thinking. Dean wasn't avoiding Sam because he was afraid of him, but because he was afraid _for_ him. He feared what Sam might become only because that would mean he would loose his little brother – the only thing in the world that really mattered to him any more. But he wasn't sure how to tell that to Sam – at least, not without turning it into some gigantic sap-fest.

Dean glanced up from the car to look at the curtained motel room window before lowering his gaze back to the car again – specifically, through the windshield to Sam's seat inside. _That_ was the real reason Dean hadn't been driving anywhere lately – he wasn't up to talking to Sam yet (which would inevitably happen if they started driving for long periods of time), and if he went by himself, the seat would be empty.

He didn't think he could handle that at the moment. The Impala never felt quite right whenever that seat was empty and he was driving.

Dean sighed. As much as he hated it, he realized the need to sit and talk with Sam. He just hoped he could keep the conversation focused on Sam and his problems, not on Dean. After all, Sam's problems were more pressing. He was worth more than Dean ever was, even with these new darker tendencies. Even before he was born, Sam's needs had always come before Dean's – just because they had both been to Hell and back didn't mean things had changed.

Dean took a bracing breath as he laid a hand on the doorknob, his mouth twisting in a slight frown as a wave of tension suddenly clenched his gut. After a moment he twisted the knob and strode in, trying to keep his voice forceful and the apprehension suppressed.

"Look, Sam, before you start, I think we need-"

The words faded as the hunter took in the sight of the disarrayed room. All of the blankets on his own bed had been ripped to the floor, except for one corner, which was wrapped around Sam's feet. Sam was sprawled on his bed, his feet and left arm hanging off the edge. His head was tipped slightly over the side of the mattress, and his right hand was resting on top of his journal, a pen still trapped in his lax fingers.

The sight that caught Dean's attention, though, was the growing bloodstain across Sam's lower back, nearly hidden and yet blatantly obvious beneath the swirling shadow above it.

"Sam!"

His brain dimly registered the thud of fruit bouncing off the floor as he took two long strides across the small motel room, practically leaping onto the bed next to his brother. Sam's body rocked with the movement of the bed, his head sliding further off the mattress. "Sammy? Sam!" Dean called, grabbing his brother by both shoulders and pulling him further onto the bed. The vise grip around his chest lessened slightly when he felt the twitch of a steady, if somewhat quick, pulse beneath Sam's too-warm skin.

"You can wake up any time now, man," he whispered, moving his hands so one gently shook Sam's shoulders while the other hovered just above the wound. He swallowed as he watched the shadows undulate over the cloth-covered wound. "This is already gonna be awkward enough as it is without me having to strip you."

There was no response – no annoyed huff, no roll of the eyes, no slight smile quirking his younger brother's lips, not even a moan. Only silence and the tangy scent of blood and sweat hung in the air, making it all too easy for Dean's mind to wander back to a mud-hole of a town in the middle of nowhere with Sam's head limp against his shoulder-

_No. _That was _not_ happening again. Not if Dean had anything to say about it.

In one swift move, Dean had snagged one of the pillows from the head of Sam's bed with one hand and tugged his brother's loose polo up with the other. The fabric clung to the bloody wound for a brief moment before coming free, and Dean only saw a glimpse of the actual wound before he was pressing down with the pillow, trying to stop the bleeding. From what he saw, the wound didn't seem to be as life-threatening as it was the first time, but any blood coming out of Sam was still too much, in Dean's opinion. Sam groaned and bucked weakly beneath Dean's hands.

"Sam? Sammy, you with me?" Dean called, twisting his back so he could get a closer look at Sam's face. "Come on, dude, wake up," he added, moving one hand to tap at Sam's cheek. He saw his brother's eyelids flicker for a moment before his body went limp again.

"Sam! Sammy, come on, this isn't funny anymore. You can sleep later," Dean barked, his voice cracking slightly as he tapped Sam's cheek again. Sam moaned, facial muscles twitching in response, but he still didn't wake. Dean moved to check his brother's pulse again. It was still too fast for Dean's liking but it seemed a bit stronger than before.

As he increased the pressure on the pillow, Dean's eyes flicked up, doing a quick survey of the room. Other than the blankets on the beds, nothing seemed too out of place. His eyes narrowed when he caught sight of an upturned chair by the window, but as far as he could tell, there was no sign of forced entry or fighting back, which meant Sam had been alone. He glanced down at the polo bunched in the middle of Sam's back and stretched it out with a hand. There was no tear in the cloth, only blood, and Dean's forehead wrinkled in confusion. Whatever had made Sam's back start bleeding again hadn't gone through his shirt. That narrowed the weapon field to… none.

Nothing natural, anyway.

"What happened, Sam? What's going on with you?" Dean murmured, his eyes flicking from Sam's slack face to the journal still trapped under his hand. A page fluttered slightly as the air conditioner kicked on with a few soft clangs. Dean's nose wrinkled as the air movement wafted an acrid smell under his nostrils. One quick look towards his bed revealed what he smelled – vomit. Dean could see the edge of the disgusting puddle peeking out from under his bed. _The cleaning lady's so gonna love that._

Then a thought crossed his mind, and Dean focused his gaze back on Sam's face. This time he could see the tell-tale crinkles of skin around Sam's eyes and across the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut instinctively to try and stop the pain, and Dean couldn't help but curse softly under his breath.

A vision. Sam had a vision – his first one in over a year. And he had been alone.

That would explain the vomit and the mess of blankets on the floor. Sam was probably in no condition to clean either up – if he even realized the extent of the mess. It had been awhile, but Dean could remember all too clearly how disoriented Sam got after a particularly intense vision.

"Must've been a hell of a vision, eh, Sammy?" Dean muttered, gently pulling back the pillow to take a look at the wound. He frowned when he saw the small, neat row of stitches across Sam's lower back below the swirling shadows, half of which were torn. There was no way Sam could've done those by himself, so that meant Bobby must've done it – which meant Bobby was hiding just as much from Dean as Sam was. Dean filed that tidbit away for later so he could be properly furious at the both of them – once Sam was better and back on his feet and being an all-around pain in the ass again.

Blood had started oozing out again from the torn stitches, and Dean quickly pressed the pillow down again – but not before he caught sight of the fresh scars on Sam's sides. He frowned as he reapplied pressure, looking up towards Sam's face. "What's the deal, Sammy? Why hasn't this one healed when the other ones have?"

No response.

Dean growled softly in the back of his throat, glancing over his shoulder towards his duffel bag and silently bemoaning the distance – he would have to get up and leave Sam for a moment to go and get the first aid kit out of it. A moment was too long when Sam was out.

The rustle of paper underneath Sam's hand caught Dean's attention and he looked at the journal, contemplating shoving the book off the bed when a sentence popped out at him.

_My brother doesn't want me back anymore. _

"What the hell?" Dean croaked, his heart and stomach plummeting to somewhere below the bed. "What were you thinking, Sammy?" he wondered, adjusting his grip on the pillow so he could reach over and slide the book from underneath Sam's lax fingers. His eyes widened when he saw the last few scrawled words.

_Dean._

_I'm sorry. Live_

_Lov_

Dean licked his lips as his heart leaped up from under the bed and into his throat. He could read between the lines and recognized the scribbles for what they really were.

_Goodbye._

"Oh, _hell_, no!" Dean barked, focusing his attention back on his brother. "You're not getting off that easy, Sam! If you're gonna say something like that, you say it to my face, got it?"

The air conditioner switched off again with a loud shudder, but there was still no response from Sam. "Damn it," Dean hissed when he pulled the pillow back and saw blood still oozing. His head tilted when he noticed something else – the shadows moving in around the wound. "What the…" he murmured, reaching out with a hand to prod the area on Sam's back. His eyes widened when the shadows moved away from his hands, leaving a few inches of clear space on Sam's skin. When he moved his hand, the shadows moved with him, maintaining the distance from his fingers.

"Okay," Dean drawled out softly, moving his hand to prod at the wound. With the shadows cleared away, Dean could see that the area was red and inflamed – except for a small black spot about an inch below the gash. Tilting his head, Dean probed at it. Sam's body arched down into the bed and he cried out softly. Dean immediately pulled his hand away, and the shadows moved in again, swirling steadily around where the spot was now hidden.

Dean swallowed, instinctively applying pressure again with the pillow. Sam's heavy breathing was becoming wheezier, and when Dean grabbed his limp wrist he could feel that Sam's heart had sped up even more, and the pulse was growing fainter. _What do I do, what do I do-_

As his glance passed over the journal again, he paused, peering at the untidy scrawl at the beginning of the last entry.

_I hate demons._

_They took Mom. Dad. Jess. And they took Dean._

_And they're responsible for what's happening to that wound on my back._

Dean's jaw firmed. Demons. It was _always_ demons. He glanced back at the wound, pulling the pillow away again and holding a hand just over Sam's skin. The spot was darker and larger now. Somehow, Dean just _knew_ that it was both the source of the shadows and the reason why that particular wound wasn't healing.

Dean swallowed again as an idea formed in his mind. If it was demonic in origin…

Dean's resolve firmed. Tossing the pillow aside, he scrambled off the bed and raced for his duffel bag. He nearly tore the zipper off as he hurriedly pulled it open and snagged the flask of holy water glinting up at him. Then he practically leaped back onto the bed. Sam moaned softly as the bed bounced and jostled when Dean climbed back on.

Dean paused as he unscrewed the lid of the flask, chewing his lip softly. "Here goes everything," he muttered, firmly placing his right hand in the middle of Sam's back and flicking some of the holy water with his left.

The reaction was instantaneous. Sam cried out as his skin hissed and sizzled as the mass of shadows grew darker, and his body arched into the bed again, trying to get away from the pain. Dean shifted so he could trap Sam's flailing legs and flicked a little more holy water, ignoring the faint tingle as some of the liquid splashed onto the skin of his right hand. "Just hang on, Sammy," Dean grit out as Sam moaned again, the cry sounding faintly like "Deeee." Bracing himself, Dean took a deep breath, the words flowing to his mouth out of instinct.

"_Exorcizamus __te, __omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-"_

Sam's body writhed more violently, and Dean had to force himself to keep going as pain erupted in his chest, his voice cracking more and more as he struggled not to curl in on himself, instead focusing on restraining Sam.

_"-omnis incursio infernalis adversari, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu Christi –" _

Dean suddenly lurched backwards, falling onto his own bed as Sam's body twisted violently. The older hunter gasped for breath, clenching at his ribs as he watched the shadows pull themselves into the spot. With wide eyes, he softly finished, pausing for breath every few words.

_"-eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis._"

With one final arch of his body, Sam cried out, his eyes shooting open as he curled in on himself on top of the bed. The shadow shot up towards the ceiling, thin and coiling like a rope against the plaster before passing through the glass of the window. Sam's body went limp again and his eyes slid closed as he gasped for air.

Immediately Dean scrambled back to Sam's bed. "Sam? Sam!" he called, shaking Sam's shoulder.

Sam groaned and cracked his eyes open, looking up at Dean through his sweaty bangs. "D-De?" he croaked, his gasps receding to deeper breaths.

Dean's shoulders slumped forward in relief, his head dropping so it just brushed Sam's temple, and he smiled faintly, sliding his hand over so he could gently squeeze Sam's neck. "Yeah, Sammy. Right here."

Sam's eyes fluttered closed again. "Don' feel so good."

Dean couldn't hold back a chuckle as he twisted Sam's body over so he could look at his back. "I bet. Lemme fix ya up, okay?"

"M'kay," Sam breathed, his body gradually going limp as he drifted off into sleep. Dean moved his hand to check his brother's pulse and was relieved to feel it slowing down.

Half an hour later, Dean was tucking the blankets around Sam's shoulders. Sam had awakened briefly when Dean was rinsing out the wound with holy water and peroxide, moaning softly as the peroxide sizzled. Dean's shoulders had relaxed even more when the wound showed no reaction to the holy water. After re-stitching and re-bandaging the wound, Dean managed to rouse Sam enough to get him to change into another t-shirt and some sweatpants.

As Dean finished with the blankets, Sam stirred, nestling deeper into the bed. Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed and smiled faintly as he looked at his brother's face. The only shadows on Sam's features were the ones cast by the bedside lamp. "You'll be okay, Sammy," he whispered. "_We'll_ be okay."

Sam grunted softly in his sleep before twisting and lying down on his left side.

After a moment, Dean got up and began straightening out the room, using some towels to sop up the pile of vomit as best as he could before grabbing the blankets to his own bed and straightening them out to the point where he'd be able to sleep under them when he was ready. He put away the first aid kit, picked the fruit up off the floor and put it in the fridge, and went to the bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth, glancing every few minutes at his brother.

Finally he sat on the edge of his own bed, eying the leather-bound journal resting on the end table between the two beds. With only a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the journal and opened it. Sam would probably kill him later, but he could care less at the moment. He had to figure out just when his brother's mind got so screwed up.

_My brother doesn't want me back anymore. _

Dean flipped through the pages, glancing over his brother's familiar writing. From what he could tell, Sam's journal was set up a lot like Dad's – personal stuff in the front, hunt stuff in the back. It may have been intentional, but knowing Sam, it probably wasn't. Dean couldn't help but smile at yet another reminder of the similarity between Sam and John. Those reminders didn't hurt so much any more.

As Dean moved towards the beginning of the journal, he paused. Twenty pages in was an entry marked "Day 1". "Do you have to be such a girl, Sammy?" Dean muttered, eyes flicking over to his sleeping brother before returning to the entry.

_I got my brother back today._

_I got my life back today._

Dean swallowed as he read the first entry. Yeah, Sam was definitely a girl – at least when it came to emotional stuff.

But… it was good to be reminded that the whole brother-protection-thing was mutual every once in a while.

Dean shifted on the bed, propping a pillow up against the headboard and stretching legs out on the bed as he started reading. Most of the entries were short, recording some mundane things they did each day – Dean figured it was a way for Sam to keep track of him and monitor his progress. He felt a mix of fond exasperation and amusement at the records – it was almost as if Sam was recording his first steps or something.

Which, in a way, it was… kinda. Still, Sam was gonna be hearing about this for a long time. Dean grinned at the thought of how much ammunition he was gonna pick up after reading through this stuff.

The grin faded a little when he thought about how much fun Sam and Jess would have had raising their kids and recording all of their firsts. He drove the thought from his mind and started reading again.

_It lets me know that my big brother is somewhere inside that broken shell. And I don't care how long it takes – I'm going to get as much of that big brother back as I can._

_Images of your own father shouting how much he hates you and then reciting an exorcism and emptying a clip into you while your brother was screaming in the background would scar most people, I think._

_As for my own nightmares… well. I'll deal with them on my own. Dean's higher priority right now. _

Dean frowned as he read that entry. He could vaguely remember those first few days – lots of nightmares and panic attacks. He also remembered a comforting presence whenever he woke up; the gentle pressure of a hand on his head bringing back from the grip of a nightmare; the comforting yet needy looks Sam would send him, reminding him what he was supposed to be doing.

But now that he thought about it, Sam hadn't been sleeping well then, either. Dean had thought it was because of him and his nightmares, but now that he had read Sam's entries… he felt about ten different kinds of low for not picking up on Sam's struggles.

For supposedly being the Sam Winchester expert, he was sure batting zero for a thousand lately.

As he continued to read, he could begin to see the pattern – Sam shoving aside his own needs to get Dean back to normal. While that wasn't a surprising action in and of itself, it bothered Dean because that wasn't how things were supposed to work. Sam was supposed to come first.

_He of all people should know what it's like to have to lose a best friend – a brother. But he can't get it through his thick skull that he's just as worthy for sacrifice as I am._

_Dean never should have traded himself for me. The consequences of his stay in Hell… saving me just wasn't worth what he went through._

_Sometimes I wonder if he feels the same way. I mean… I guess I don't see Dean acting like he feels that way, but I'm still a little worried. Does Dean still think it was worth it?_

_Sometimes I wish I wasn't ever born. Then Dean and Dad could've had a chance at a normal life. And Mom and Jess would still be alive._

_But even if Dean gets… "normal" again… I still don't think it's gonna be worth it. Not for what he went through. And definitely not for what he got out of the deal. _

Any trace of humor was completely gone from Dean's face now. He remembered that night all too clearly – that nightmare had been a doozy. Instead of him all strung up by himself, he had been able to see Sam in the same predicament and despite all of his struggles, Dean had been helpless, watching as Sam had been ripped apart.

The only thing that had pulled him from the throes of the dream had been Sam's solid, reassuring presence behind him. He remembered telling Sam about his experiences while he was dead, and he even dropped the dreaded "l" word. And that, more than anything, should have clued Sam in to the fact that Dean needed Sam. The seventy or so hours he had experienced after Cold Oak and before the crossroads confirmed in his mind that there could be no Dean without Sam.

Dean's eyes re-skimmed a few of the previous entries. He had thought there could be Sam without Dean. Maybe there could have, once upon a time – back when Sam was studying law and dating the girl of his dreams. But not anymore.

Dean felt both disappointed and oddly relieved by that.

_As long as it doesn't get out of hand. I can only handle so much over-protective Dean._

Dean snorted, looking back towards his brother. "Dude, the feeling's mutual," he declared. Sam muttered something under his breath and rolled over so his back was facing Dean.

Dean grinned and went back to reading.The next few entries were back to corny progress. Dean could definitely tell how much of a difference that first hunt made in Sam's outlook, although he had known that just by watching his brother. He didn't have to read a pansy diary to figure it out.

Dean's smile froze when he turned the page and saw the first line of the next entry.

_I am such a screw-up._

And they were back to this – back to that damned house and that demon.

_Dean won't even look at me. Not that I blame him. If I were him, I wouldn't want to look at me, either. Not when I screwed this up so badly._

_I'm a little freaked. That wound on my back still hasn't healed, and I don't know what to do about it. I can't really go to a doctor, and I can't tell Dean or Bobby – Dean still doesn't know – and I intend to keep it that way – and I think I've convinced Bobby that it's pretty much all healed up by now. But it's not. It always hurts, and now I'm starting to get premonitions again._

_He never should have had to suffer what my existence has put him through. Without me, none of this would have happened._

_What's dead should stay dead. Dean never should have brought me back._

Dean groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing them with a fist. This was all his fault… if he had just _talked_ to Sam instead of avoiding him, he could've prevented all of this self-doubt. He could've been there for his brother when he had his vision. He could've been there when Sam was _dying_ on the bed…

But he wasn't. He'd walked out when Sam had needed him most – left him by himself. Alone. Dean could practically smack himself in the head for his stupidity.

Yeah. Because Sam being alone always ended with such great results.

With a sigh, Dean thumbed the page over so he could read the last entry. Sam's handwriting was messy to the point where it was almost unreadable – a stark contrast to the relatively neat script before – and a lot of words were missing. Dean figured Sam had probably written it after his vision.

_Although… right now, maybe wouldn't. It would be more of a relief, actually. Dean doesn't really want to be around me, anyway._

_I told Dean off for keeping secrets when I'm still keeping the biggest – that I'm more Demon than he is. That the thing that killed Mom practically made me his kid._

A soft thump echoed through the room as Dean leaned his head back against the headboard. When had things become so screwed up? Why? What had his family ever done to deserve any of this? When had _Sam_ ever done anything to deserve this?

Dean's head was practically swimming from reading all of his brother's entries. Yeah, he'd wanted to find out what was bugging Sam… he just wasn't expecting to find so much. Like Sam having ol' Yellow Eyes' blood in him?

Not that the blood itself mattered to Dean. Sam was _his _brother, _his_ family, and nothing Sam or anyone else said would change that. Sam, though, obviously felt this information would change things between them; otherwise, he would've told Dean the minute he found out.

Dean sighed again, swinging his legs off the bed. He rested an elbow on one of his knees and propped his chin in his hand, contemplating as he watched Sam's back shift when he breathed. Any reservations he had about talking openly with Sam had gone out the window a long time ago. Dean's shoulders stiffened with resolve as he reached over and snagged the pen with the motel logo on it from the end table.

When Sam woke up, they would figure this out and move on – Dean would make sure of that. They _could_ get past this. They had to. Dean was pretty sure there would be some hugging involved, and maybe some tears (on Sam's part, of course) but if it got them back to where they had been before – or at least halfway back to that point – then it would be worth it.

Dean looked down at the blank page of Sam's journal in front of him, pen poised in his hand. Tomorrow they would talk. Until then…

**_We need to talk, Sammy._**

_A/N: And that's the end. As of now, I'm not planning on writing a sequel, mainly because I have no time. Perhaps if inspiration ever strikes, I'll return to this. But for now, I'll be looking forward to seeing just how Kripke ends up solving this little problem (as I'm sure all of you are). _

_Thanks again for all of your patience and support and reviews. They mean the world to me, and they're what convince me to keep writing._

_Until next time,_

_moogsthewriter_


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